


Those Who Wander

by InTheShadows



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Creepy Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood), Crossover, Dementors, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Protective Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood), Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 07:14:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9537467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheShadows/pseuds/InTheShadows
Summary: Harry wanders the halls at night, unable to sleep. He can't get the screaming out of his head, the chill from his bones. It is late and no one is around to scold him. At least, until he gets an unexpected companion.





	

Harry Potter is wandering the halls of Hogwarts late at night, map in hand and cloak secured around his shoulders. He knows he shouldn't be. He knows it's against the rules, but he can't help it. It felt as if he was suffocating when he was in the Tower. If he stayed there any longer he was going to scream. So he fled into the dark of the night.

Everything is peaceful. No one is patrolling by now. The ghosts are absent. The portraits are asleep. There is no one to stop him from explorations. He checks the map again, just in case. Empty. Good. This map is a gift of Merlin himself, along with the twins.

He sighs softly. They were also the ones to tell him about Sirius Black, who betrayed his parents and now, apparently, wants to kill him as well. Another reason he shouldn't have left the safety of the Tower. Everyone would be furious if they knew. But he can't sit still.

A chill runs through him yet again. He has been cold constantly this year. The Dementors are able to effect him, even this far into the school. Their presence makes his very bones feel like ice. He can't escape the cold, no matter how many layers he puts on. He can't escape the sound of the woman screaming, of the green flash of light. He sees it every time he closes his eyes. And every time it gets more and more detailed. They haunt him no matter what.

At this point he is on a permanent chocolate diet. He is to eat some at every meal and any time in between class he feels like he needs it. Harry didn't realize it was possible to be sick of chocolate, but it is. It makes his stomach queasy just thinking about it.

But it is the only cure besides Cheering Potion and Dreamless Sleep. Neither potion is able to be taken indefinitely. Cheering Potion will unbalance the chemicals that controls emotions. Dreamless Sleep is both addictive and a tolerance to it can develop. Both has Madam Pomfrey reluctant to give them to him unless the situation becomes worse.

Still, it doesn't take away the chill. Or the screams.

Harry has a bad feeling he knows exactly who is screaming. He has had dreams of the green light ever since he could remember. Green lights and evil red eyes. Now that he could hear the woman scream... 'Not my baby!' she begs, 'Not my son!'

There is only one reason he would hear a woman begging for her child's life. His Mum. Once he heard what she was saying tonight, he finally realized it was his Mum screaming. He is hearing his Mother's murder. He is hearing _that night_.

A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold went down his spine. Out of all the things he has to relive, why does it have to be that night? With the way his life has turned out, he shouldn't be surprised. It is just his luck.

A dark chuckle echoes through the hall, making Harry jump. He looks down at the map, but no one is there. But he knows that isn't true because he can feels eyes staring at him.

“Who's there?” he calls softly.

“What's the matter little one? Can't you see me?”

Harry examines the shadows on the wall closely, but he can't see anything. He shakes his head.

“What about now?” a voice from behind him asks.

Harry spins around in fright and sees a man standing behind him. A tall dark man with grey skin, black hair and golden eyes. In an odd way, he reminds Harry of Snape. He looks down at the map, but it is still blank. He stares up at the man. “Who are you?”

“Why, can't you guess?” He takes a step back and gives an elegant bow. “I am Pitch Black, the Boogieman,” he introduces.

Harry swallows. When he was younger, his Aunt always told him that one day the Boogieman would come and take him away. He ate bad little freaks who didn't do as they were told. But, well, that isn't exactly true now is it? Because why would he come for him now, when he isn't at the Drusleys anymore?

He takes a long look. Really, after the initial shock, he isn't all that scary. Snape inspires more fear than he does. Unless he isn't trying to? But why wouldn't he? That doesn't make much sense. And unless he is a vampire, it doesn't look as if he is going to eat Harry either.

Frankly he can't find it in him to be surprised. Nothing in his life has made sense since he turned eleven. Magic, talking portraits, basilisks, potions that can do practically anything, crazy Professors, odd and vicious creatures, flying brooms. What is the Boogieman compared to all that? Just another thing on the list as far as he is concerned.

Although that doesn't say much about his life, that he can think that. Rather the opposite, if someone were to ask him. Not that anyone ever does.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Why, soaking up the fear,” Pitch answers promptly.

“Do you eat it?”

“In a manner of speaking. I thrive off of it and right now this school is dripping with it. It's quite lovely in fact, if you like that sort of thing,” he adds the last when Harry gives him a funny look.

Harry shrugs. Well, to each his own then. What does he know about normal? He's starting to think it is never going to happen, no matter how much he may want it. Too many weird things happen to him. This is actually quite tame in comparison.

He starts to walk again, not wanting to stand still anymore. Pitch follows. “And might I inquire why you are out of bed and smelling so delicious?”

“You know that sounds creepy right?”

“It is part of the job description. No one wants a pleasant Boogieman.”

Fair enough. “Nightmares.”

“Charming,” he says, rather too happily for comfort, “about what?”

“My Mum's murder,” Harry states flatly.

Pitch nods. “Yes, that would do it. Were you young when it occurred?”

“I was a year and a half.” And it's odd, but Harry doesn't really mind this conversation. He should. His parents murder isn't something he likes to think about, let alone talk about. But there is something about Pitch that makes him feel... safe, almost. Calm. There isn't the usual ache in his chest when he thinks about it.

Pitch lays a hand on his shoulder. Is the Boogieman really comforting him right now? It seems so. He leans into it. “So young to remember such things,” he says softly.

“It's the Dementors. They bring the memory out.” He shivers.

“Are they a problem for you?”

He nods. “They're bad,” he admits quietly.

Pitch pulls him farther into his side until he is pressed up against the man. He is cool, but Harry doesn't mind. Not many people touch him. His Aunt and Uncle wouldn't be caught dead giving him any type of affection. Ron obviously isn't going to. Hermione has hugged him a couple of times. Mrs Weasley always gives him a hug when she sees him, but that is it.

So if Pitch is going to offer, he isn't going to refuse. Funny, for not wanting to be pleasant, Pitch isn't half bad. Pretty decent in fact. He smiles to himself.

As they walk, Harry begins to feel warm. The chill in his bones starts to withdraw. He looks up at Pitch, who is still holding Harry to his side as they walk.

“Yes?” he asks, looking down.

“Are you... doing something?”

Pitch looks up again, away from him. “Fear is a necessary part of life,” he begins and Harry nods in agreement. “Just as there is always dark with the light, there will always be fear with joy. It makes children cautious, adults wary. It helps people survive and develop courage.” He sighs. “But no child should live with fear constantly. No child should have to face a parent's death continuously. Fear can overcome, but it can also cripple.”

Harry doesn't say anything after that. Neither does Pitch. Eventually he delivers him back to the Tower, right to his bed. “Sleep well little one,” he cards a hand gently through Harry's hair as he tucks him in, “I shall see you again.”

“Night Pitch,” he answers sleepily, “you know, you're not so bad, for the Boogieman.”

A dark chuckle echoes through the room. “Don't let the soul suckers get you,” he warns as he vanishes.

 

 

 

 


End file.
